


Castle of Glass

by littlelady1121



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Avengers Family, Domestic Avengers, Domesticity, Original Character(s), Possessive Steve, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Protective Bucky Barnes, avengers domestic life, bucky and steve fix their friendship, steve finds some love, they really need a healer, when the healer needs healing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-04-15 02:48:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4590168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelady1121/pseuds/littlelady1121
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When tragedy hits the Avengers, dynamics change within the team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Steve slid silently from under the blankets, pushing them closer to her softly dozing form, her hand tucked under her cheek, hair disheveled and splayed across the blue pillows. Her chest rose and fell, rose and fell, the dim morning light crossing the bed. He turned away, and pulled onhis flannel pants, covering the ridiculous - yet _ridiculously_ comfortable - American flag boxers she gave to him a two months ago for his birthday, of course amidst a chorus of barely hid giggles, made worse when he put them on a few hours later. 

She mumbled in her sleep, turning towards his cooling side of the bed. He felt the corners of his mouth turn upwards as he reached out and tucked the silk sheets - his _one_ indulgence - around her bare shoulder, the smooth curved flesh of her breast and side briefly exposed. He gave her a soft peck on the cheek, she swatted grumpily at him her sleep. 

“Where yu goin’?” she grumbled, the words jumbled together, tumbling from her barely moving lips. 

“For a run.” he answered, pulling a muscle shirt over his head, ruffling his sandy hair. She grunted, pulled her knees up, shifting the sheets around her body. 

“That’s silly,” she spoke into the pillow, using her hands to push the fluff into her face. “I’ll stay here.” 

Steve chuckled, walked over to her side of the large bed, and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her up and to his chest. She flopped around his arms like a rag doll, and he laughed into her neck. He kissed her, and then let her flop back down. 

“Lazy bones, you young whippersnappers these days don’t do anything but sleep,” he started backing towards the door, she shot upwards, clutching the sheets to her chest, sleepy eyes narrowed - 

“all good for nothings, not like in _my_ day -”

The pillow came close to his head, bounced off the wall, and he deftly caught it and threw it back by her feet. 

“You better watch it old man!” she snapped back at him, laying back down into the softness around her. 

He ducked out the door, and padded softly towards the kitchen. He knew it would be a few before she ventured out of their bedroom, finding her clothing would be interesting, She tossed them somewhere the previous night in haste, and currently could be anywhere from under the bed to the bathroom. Bucky sat hunched over a bowl of cereal, the newspaper spread out in front of him, spoon in one hand, pencil in the other. 

“At the crossword again?” Steve pulled open the fridge, peered inside. Silence. The soft scribble of pencil against paper. He pulled out some milk, and took a swig from the bottle. 

“She’s going to yell if she catches you.” Bucky murmured, still hunched over his cereal. Steve shrugged, his tongue swiping the milk off his upper lip. 

“what she doesn’t know, won’t hurt us.” 

“She always knows.” Bucky shifted his dark eyes up to Steve, glaring at him. “And _I’m_ the one who has to buy new milk.” 

Steve shot him a smirk over his shoulder as he pulled his sneakers and shorts from a bag in the corner. “Wanna join” he asked, holding up his sneakers like a smelly peace offering. Bucky shook his head and went back to his crossword. Steve shrugged, and stepped into the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and walked out barely five minutes later with shorts on. 

“Later, Buck.” 

Bucky grunted, eraser squeaking against the page as he scribbled out a letter. 

Steve ran down the the stairs to the gym, knowing this early on Sunday, the Avengers Tower was likely to be empty, and Tony wasn’t going to be around to add commentary. The place was quiet, reeking of disinfectant and sweat. The locker room to the wide bay windows overlooking New York were all bare of people, Avengers and agents alike. He started out slow on the treadmill, picking up the pace as he worked out the morning kinks. 

His body picked up the rhythm quickly, feet pounding into sync, body rigidly straight, arms swishing back and forth as he ran. His mind emptied, he just felt the muscles of his body moving and working, knitting and re-knitting. He was fluid, the sweat building along his arms and back. 

He enjoyed his morning runs, but it was always difficult to roll out of her arms. Especially now that she caved and decided to move in with him. Claire was constantly at the Avenger’s Tower before this anyway, patching them up until the wee hours of the morning, hands aglow and exhausted. He couldn’t count the amount of times he found her squished into a chair, knees and arms boxed into her body as she fell asleep over her latest patient. How many times he picked her up, and tucked her into bed, folding her beneath soft sheets and his own arms. 

Claire. His Claire. 

She snatched him away from his grief and the war he stilled live in, and did more than just heal his body. That day in New York, nearly three years ago, with Loki leading an army of aliens. Her eyes haunted him for months afterwards, waking up from that fall from the bridge, her dirt smudged face leaning over chest, her hands pressed into his suit, the soft white glow emanating from her arms and fingers. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s gonna be okay...” she murmured, more to herself than him, and he could feel the stinging warmth on his skin, felt it all sew back together. Sometimes he dreamed about still, even with her there. Her eyes had been wide and frantic, sweat poured down her neck, her hands pushing into his chest. 

She jumped back when she was done, hands at her sides, still glowing, panting and exhausted. 

“Go get’em,” she had told him then, and ran away without looking back, ran away from him, ran into the broken, battled city to hide. A part of him followed her, and knew he would never see her again. Knew she healed him and left, she did her part and now let him go on to do his. He didn’t know then, if she lived or died, if she was many of the hundreds that lost their lives that day, and that thought never left him. He never let him see peace, followed him even when he slept. That guilt, that another good one died, another needless victim of hate and brutality. In some ways he convinced himself she _was_ dead, it was easier to live with. Easier to believe she was, it gave him a reason to hate and feel the bitterness inside that he did.  

He never thought he would find her again, see her. This girl with the whiskey colored eyes and healing hands who braved the battle to help him. He convinced himself she was gone and gone for good, and that was that. War was like that, war killed and felt no remorse. That was his duty. To feel what the mechanical machine could not. 

And then he found Bucky. Broken, bowed Bucky, who barely slept and had nightmares when he did, ate very little, and moved like a ghost in his apartment. And funnily enough, Bucky, after months of prying, told him of the woman at the park who healed him. She had glowing hands and kind eyes, who left him sweatshirts and fresh bread. 

The impact she had on his life could not be put into words, and now she was his. His girl. His Claire. So far, one of two people who make Bucky crack a smile and make the Hulk into a mewling child. Yes, his Claire. It took him far too long to find, but it was worth the wait to have her. He jumped off the treadmill with flourish, and stretched his arms of his head. 

Yes. It was worth it. Knowing, yes, he was Steve Rogers, Captain America, but there was a little slice of normal in the person of a five foot two, brown haired, brown eyed woman with healing hands and attitude the size of Manhattan. He toweled off, and made his way back towards his apartment. 

 ~~

Steve opened the door to his apartment, the cool air hitting his face in a refreshing blast. He heard the soft footsteps as someone walked around the kitchen. 

“You know, Bucky,” he heard her say, “I think you want one more pancake.” 

“Gotta leave some for the punk downstairs.” came the response. 

“Oh, he doesn’t get any. He drank from the milk carton. He gets nothing.” He could hear the smile in her voice, it was dripping with her unnatural morning mirth. She didn’t even need coffee, either. Natasha and Tony both swore her off any time before nine AM. 

Bucky snorted. “How do you know that?” 

“you’ll never know. I just do.”

Steve leaned against the door jamb as quietly as he could to listen to them chatter, well her chatter, and Bucky grunt in response. How did his life get like this? When did he get so lucky, to have them here, to finally have something in his life that made sense. Bucky and Claire and Sam, and even the family of Avengers that lived dispersed throughout the building. 

“I’m thinking today is a park day, what do you think?” she asked, the quiet clink of fork against plate, the scent of maple syrup wafting out of the kitchen. No response from Bucky. 

“It’s so pretty out today, oh, maybe apple picking? I do know this great place up state a little, best apples. I can even make pie later too.” there was a pause, “pie would be nice, it’s all American, like Steve.”

“Steve, you can quit spying now.” Bucky called out, and two minutes later, Claire popped around the corner, hair up, one of his t-shirts dwarfing her body. She smiled, and pranced up to him, smiling. She stood on her toes, and kissed his check, “finally!”

She linked their fingers, and he let her pull him towards the kitchen, Bucky eyeing him suspiciously. 

“We were wondering when you’d join us instead of being a creeper.” she plopped down on a stool, and pulled her plate towards her again. It wasn’t a normal scene, not by a long shot. 

Here he was, the product of a German soldier, trapped in the ice for seventy years, his best friend, an ex-Soviet assassin with a metal arm, and a small New York girl with the ability to heal with her hands, and not in the way of doctors either. 

But...it was as normal as it got, and they were his, and he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

He reached for some pancakes, and she swatted his hand away. “Oh no,” she shook her head, “you get none. You drank from the milk carton again.” He sighed heavily. 

“You don’t even drink milk.” 

“Not the point, old man.” she countered, waving her fork at him, “it’s gross.” She shoved a piece of peanut buttered pancake in her mouth, and raised her eyebrows at him. Steve smirked, and slid closer to her, arm snaking across the back of her chair. She looked at him askance, 

“plus,” Claire began, “no one else wants your germs.” 

“Germs?” he asked. Bucky stepped up, knowing what came next. 

“Yes, your super soldier germs.” she continued, eating more of her pancake, and pointedly looking away. 

“You know, you had no problem with my ‘germs‘ last night.” He kissed her puffed out cheek, and swiped her next forkful of pancake. 

“You two are disgusting.” Bucky grumbled, taking his newspaper away as he moved towards the living room. 

“Um, excuse me, _he_ is the one who drinks milk from the carton, not me.” she called after Bucky’s disappearing form. Steve smiled, and pulled the plate towards him, piling another pancake on top. 

“It’s still gross.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

“I’m yellin‘ Timbaaaaa” Claire screech-sang in the middle of her living room, socked feet sliding on the waxed wooden floor, her hips swaying disjointedly, arms waving above her head, “whooo-oHoooOOOhhh...” she held the wooden spoon to her lips, the deep, fast base of the way too poppy song blaring above her head. 

The boys had left, some Avengers meeting she wasn’t invited to, and left to her own devices. She should be studying for her anatomy final. Instead, she had baked a pie, showered, cleaned her and Steve’s room, cleaned the kitchen, and now was having her own private karaoke sing-off with Jarvis.2, with her in the finale of that. 

The pie was sitting on the granite counter top, smelling sweetly of blueberries, the crust dotted with stars. Her textbooks were open on the counter next to the pie, covered with flour and dusted with sugar, half hidden by one of her newest cookbooks. Pens were scattered in the pile of notebooks, hastily written study cards, and pictures of the body. The harsh yellow lights of the city began dotting the roadways below her apartment, the darkness that was not truly there inking the sky outside. Her reflection pranced along with her as she danced. 

She felt good, only slightly guilty for procrastinating. But pie, pie was always worth it. The sweet smell of sugar and blueberries melting together in buttery piecrust usually made her feel better, as she always did when she was cooking. She was always better dealing with food than she was with people. And it wasn’t that she wanted to fail her exam, she...just wasn’t sure she wanted what came afterwards. Full on Avenger’s medic. 

Food didn’t flinch away if you knitted their limb back together wrong. Not that she had ever done that, but it was a possibility. SHIELD was adamant she go through basic medical training before continuing to nurse their most precious assets back to shape. The warm fascination of her luminescent hands wore off fairly quickly when they realize she had no training whatsoever. 

But how could she argue, when she could take care of Steve with even better precision than before, since the man didn’t seem to get it through his thick blonde skull that he was _not invincible._ It did her anxiety wonders, really, that he came back beaten up, bruised, and with more abrasions than humanly possible. She tried to bury the thought...the thought one day he wouldn’t return, but Steve wasn’t that reckless. She hoped. 

She wanted to take care of Steve, she really did. And Bucky. They were integral parts of her life, the most important people in her life. Yet it was the others she felt wary about, just living in the Avenger’s Tower was taxing to her. After so many years upon years of hiding from the world, to be thrust into a hectic, buzzing little community that was the Avengers was rough. Peace was not a word one used to describe the Tower. 

She liked them all, dearly, she did. And they all liked her, she supposed. Yet there was a certain sense of outsider-ness. Darcy knew it, and so did Jane to a degree. They were the civilians, the shadows standing in the sidelines while their friends and loved ones saved the world over and over, the spotlight centered on them. Not that Claire would have it any other way, but they shared a bond that she could never share with Steve the way Natasha or Tony could. She would never understand that power he held. So she concluded, and accepted, there was only so far she could go with the rest of those she lived with. 

But, come on, a freaking _god_ lived four floors above her, what exactly was she going to have in common with him? Although he loudly commended her baking every chance he got. In a way, it was his way to trying to connect with her, but even that was difficult. She only knew disconnect. It was a habit Steve desperately wanted to rid her of. Hiding her gift, squirreling it away. She had gotten so good at it, she never realized she was still doing it. Twenty-eight years was a long time to indulge in that habit. 

As the song began to wind down, she stopped, letting the music roll on. It wasn’t her homework she was avoiding. She was in a mood. She knew it, and she was trying to run from it. It was just a _mood._ She didn’t want to study or dance or sing or run or anything. She didn’t want to sleep or watch TV or read or really do anything, yet still too damned _restless_ to sit still and be grumpy. Her limbs itched to move, but her brain felt bored and sluggish with anything it could come up with. She sighed deeply, and titled her head back. 

“Where did you learn those moves?” Steve’s voice was sweet and deep behind her, and she spun around, nearly tripping on her own feet. 

“How long were you watching?” she gulped, the blush spilling across her cheeks. He smiled broadly at her, and she felt that familiar feeling in her chest, the way it tightened and then released, her body relaxing. Steve was back, and he always helped when she had these moods. 

“long enough,” he laughed, dropping his jacket across the chair, and checking out the pie. He glanced up at her quickly, before eyeing the study materials spread out across the counter. “Did you study at all?”

“Define study.” she mumbled, swiftly passing him and leaning against the stove. His gaze leveled with hers, and she looked away. 

“Claire, your exam is in three days.” he warned. She nodded, her head weaving back and forth in the universal motion of dubiousness. 

“You don’t need to remind me.” She shrugged, “I’m just nervous about using-” she lifted her hands up and let them drop against her jeans, “these.” 

She had been avoiding this conversation for weeks now. “I don’t know if I can. If I’m ready.” She rolled her head to the side, still refusing to make eye contact with him. He’d know, he’d know she was too _scared_ to use it. 

“What do you mean?” Of course he was going to make her explain. Typical Steve. 

“I _mean_ that I don’t know if I can be an Avenger’s medic. I could screw up or something. What if ...what if I’m not really that good of a healer and do some irreversible damage to Clint and then Natasha will kill me for killing her person and then you’ll get mad at her for killing me and I will single handedly destroy the Avengers because I let a paper cut go gangrenous. Like do you even _know_ the germs that exist in this world? I had no idea. Seriously. I never thought of germs when I’m healing, so that means I haven’t been healing correctly, and...yeah.” 

She flicked her eyes up to his, and then looked away, sighing heavily. “I’m not a superhero like you, Steve. I more of a sidelines girl, I wave the pom-poms and cheer you on, from a corner. quietly.” 

“How long have you been holding this in?” 

“Since I started the class and realized being a chef is what I’m really good at it.” 

“Why can’t you be good at both?” 

“I have trouble multi-tasking.” 

“Well, that’s a lie.” he responded, smirking. When Claire looked up, Steve was in front of her, Dorito-shaped and all, with his soft blue eyes crinkling as he smiled at her. 

“If you don’t want to be a medic, all you had to do was say so.” 

“BUt...I do.” 

“I thought you just said you didn’t?” 

“I’m...I’m just really - really worried I won’t be a good one. A Captain America approved one.” 

“well you don’t need my approval to do anything.” 

“That’s not what I meant. You’re Captain America, and the leader of the Avengers, _the Avengers_ and that’s so important. You save lives, hell the world, how can I live up to that standard.” 

“You _saved_ my life. Or did you forget that?” She shook her head. Claire would never forget it, it was the first time in almost ten years that she used her gift. She had fainted in an alley from the exhaustion afterwards. Two days later she woke up in a random Manhattan hospital, hurting. 

She tried to move away, but he caught her arm. Claire looked up at him, his calm expression, genuine eyes. His hair flopped of his forehead. “I know you think that using your gift for healing is bad. You were taught that, I understand why you would be nervous, but I love you and have faith in you. You can do this, but only if you want. If you don’t want to, then you can be my own personal nurse. And Bucky’s too, because he won’t let anyone else touch him and you know it.” 

She nodded. “I want to. I think.” 

“You don’t need to decide now, no matter what Hill says.” 

“Okay.” she nodded, feeling a bit more reassured. She hoped. Steve pulled her in, and she crashed into his chest and buried her face their, smelling the scent of his detergent on his shirt, the faint smell of Steve underneath. He always made her feel better. Uncannily so. 

“Right, now studying.” she murmured into his chest. She felt his chin come to rest on the top of her head, and she snuggled in further. 

“Want some help?” he offered, still keeping her in his arms. She nodded. 

“I would be most appreciative.” she responded, arms tightening around him. Claire wanted to fold herself into his arms and just stay there. Days like today made her feel too vulnerable, but Steve had done that from the beginning. He broke down her walls with the same precision he fought. 

But she helped him too, she knew. She wasn’t quite sure how, but she did. 

“Alright...” she pulled away and grabbed a pen, “I’m using you as a human study guide. Arms out, tough guy.” Her smile was large as she patted his ass and danced away from his reach. 

“That was the largest muscle of the human body, glutious maximus.”  
“Now that was the lamest excuse to grab my butt I have ever heard.” 

“It’s for science, Steve, it’s for science.”


	3. Chapter 3

“What was that?” she asked distractedly as her eyes scanned the papers in front of her. The floppy white exam clenched between her hands, her fingers denting the thick pile of papers. 

“Have you. Thought. of. Medical. School.” was her professor’s terse reply. Oops. How many times had he asked her before she caught on? 

“Uh...well, no.” she responded softly, stilll staring at her exam. He professor looked even more put out, a small ridge forming between his eyes, his mouth down turning slightly. 

“I find that hard to believe, you have a very in depth knowledge of anatomy. You are the only one to pass with such marks.” he explained, and she could see where he wanted to steer this conversation. Med school, doctors, more exams. 

“I just took this class for fun.” she gulped out. It was a lie. She took this class because SHIELD told her to. Claire liked being a chef, she liked food. More often blood made her squeamish. But anyway, her professor didn’t need to know any of that. 

He harruphed, knowing she was lying but also realizing pushing her on the matter would not achieve the desired results. 

“Claire - may I call you Claire? - you are a very intelligent young woman, and it seems you have a gift. You should not squander it. The medical world needs young professionals such as yourself, to help _save lives.”_

Ha. If only he knew. She saving the people who saved lives. The Avengers. She wondered what he would say to that. Or if he knew about her unnatural ability to heal with just some glowing hands and some intense thought. His tune would change then. She knew _exactly_ what he would say. His colleagues. 

Let us test you. The doctors at so-and-so hospital have some tests they want to run, come join us. By letting us take more blood you can help cure diseases. You could save lives if we can find out how you work. Permission for this exam? This operation?Tell us again how it works. Become our visitor and try some experiments. One more then you may leave. Your test results are inconclusive, you must stay. You must stay indefinitely. 

Been there. Done that. Thankyouverymuch but no thank you. 

“Thanks, really. I appreciate your compliment -” 

“This is more than a compliment, Claire -” 

“Ms. Durham.” Claire injected, she leveled a look in his direction, “And I do so appreciate your saying so, but I am late. It was a pleasure to have you as a professor.” She took a purposeful step away from his desk, and tucked a few stray hairs away from her face. Claire hoped he took the hint. She wanted to continue no farther with this. She passed, SHIELD would give her the a-okay to be the medic, and she would never again set foot on this campus. 

She had her job. She had apartment. She had Steve. Friends. late night movies with Bucky when they couldn’t sleep. She was set. 

Nowhere was medical school a part of this plan. She did her dues in a hospital. 

“We’ll be in touch then, Ms. Durham.” Her professor shifted some paper into a straighter pile, keeping his stern gaze on her. She remained still, reading into his expression. Would he continue to press her? Well, he could try. 

“I don’t doubt it.” was her cool reply, shoving the papers into her bag, she exited the room, keeping her pace fast and even, until she landed on the steps of her school hall. The day was chilly, but sunny. She was glad it was over, to be out of that class. They were all med students, two or three years into their training. She’ll never know how Tony had finagled her into it. It was strange. No one believe her when she told them time and time again, she was only curious. A little bored. It sounded like a good idea. 

She didn’t even believe it. 

But did, ‘hey I can heal bodies with my glowy hands so the Avengers want me to be their on-call medic when one of them does something reckless (which is always) and needs emergency medical help’ make a better excuse? 

They both sounded false to her own ears. 

Claire took in a deep, deep breath. The air full of the scents of New York in the fall, cool breezes and pumpkin lattes and car exhaust. Candy corn. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, vibrating against her side. She knew she needed to answer it, as it was probably Stark or Wilson or Nat demanding to know where she was. Why was she late. She had something _important_ to be doing. 

And she did. But she just took the hardest exam of her life, and she aced it. Yeah, she was gonna take her sweet ass time. She’d been planning this Halloween party for the past month. It would wait the twenty minutes more for her to get there. When she pulled out her phone after getting a coffee (dark, one sugar), it wasn’t who she was expecting. 

_How did it go?_ was Steve’s text. 

_Aren’t you in a meeting?_

_Had to ask. Does that mean it was good?_

_Show you when I’m home._

Home. It was an odd word for her to use. Over the last decade of her life she never remained in one place for very long. Her skills as a chef never left her lacking for work, and some places even offered to pay for moving costs, so seeing the world was never an unrealized dream. From Bangkok to LA to even a small Texan town, she had seen it all. Six months here. Ten months there. She had an exceptional skill, and keeping to the back of a kitchen was her favorite place to be. 

She made friends easily, so loneliness wasn’t a problem either. The other cooks liked her well enough, she never lorded over them. She had a reputation for never staying put too long, so why fear her? She’d be gone in a few months anyway. An apartment, some books. Maybe a few casual dates to cement her normalcy. Her life wasn’t grand by any means. 

She had left New York about two and half years ago, as soon as the doctors gave her a clean bill of health upon waking up in the hospital, she high tailed it out of there, disappearing to a small Arizona town, living in the heat and the sand. She wanted to disappear for good that time. She had never used her healing powers and when she saw Captain America on the ground, wheezing dust from his mouth, she couldn’t stop herself even if she tried. No, she rushed over and struggled, ripping open his blue and red uniform before pressing her palms into his bleeding chest. 

The rush of warmth through her body was like lightening, her hands glowing bright yellow as they pulsed against him. She felt ever fiber of his being, the pain he felt gradually shifting into her fingers. When grandmothers knit, they say they can feel each thread as it loops together, feel the weight of it on their laps. This was she did. She felt each cell as it grew and connected with another, as bones meshed, and skin regrew and muscles knitted back together. She felt as the life fixed itself under her hands. It was a very intimate moment, feeling their pain, feeling their body regrow and mend due to her touch. 

She felt every nerve Steve had stand straight and fire away, waking him up. The way those blue, blue eyes had shot open and bore into hers was something she dreamed about. It didn’t help she woke up to them every morning. And every morning they looked just as grateful as the first time it happened. 

But she had left New York, running away as was her want. And then she stumbled upon Bucky, and well that was another long story she didn’t feel like reminiscing over on the subway. She had a party to plan and a shopping date to keep and a possibly a boyfriend to return home to. 

Yes, home. She had one of those now. A real one, so maybe it wasn’t four walls and a kitchen. So what if it was two strong arms and blue blue eyes that looked at her with something she couldn’t quite describe because when you love someone there aren’t words, it’s just waking up to their heart beat each morning and knowing that’s good enough for you. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

“Hey, Sam,” she leaned down to press her cheek to his in a mock kiss, before sliding into the seat next to his and Natasha, who gave her a small smile. Claire knew that was her way of showing affection to anyone but Barton or Steve. Natasha pushed a glass of water towards her, which Claire gratefully grabbed and took a sip to clear away the taste of coffee and academia.

“How did it go?” Sam asked, nudging her bag, and while tentatively sipping her water, she nodded with a awkward one shouldered shrug. “Pretty good.” she replied, hoping that her grades did not become the topic of choice.

“Pretty good?” Natasha raised an eyebrow, and the test she managed to pilfer from Claire’s bag that produced widened eyes from everyone at the table, “you had perfect marks. Look -” she shoved the papers across the secluded table towards Stark, “bonus points even.”

“How- how,” Claire stuttered, “did you even do that?” She liked Natasha but sometimes, she just didn’t feel entirely comfortable. It was nearly impossible to tell what she was thinking, and it left Claire feeling unsure around the SHIELD operative. She shifted slightly towards Sam. But Tony nodded his approval.

“So med school, now right?” he prodded. Claire held back the eye roll she felt coming on.

“What happened to ‘if you do anything else but cook, the Avengers will disown you’?” Claire asked calmly, ignoring the panic rising in her chest, she really didn’t want this to become an issue.

“Can’t you do both?” Tony asked, tapping his pen against his foot.

“I mean sure, who needs sleep anyway?” she grumbled, but then sighing, “I’m really not interested, though. Just, really not interested.”

Tony shrugged, and Natasha remained still and calm. Sam gave her a sideways glance, but didn’t press. But Claire knew, just knew, he was going to report to Steve about the med school deal. Steve wanted her to go, or at least continue on this vein. She’d handle that argument later.

“Anyway, we have a party for Capsicle and Bionic Man to finish, am I right?” Tony propped his feet on an empty chair.

“I think we’re almost done.” Natasha smoothed down an already straight page in a prim notebook. “The bandstand is booked?” Sam asked, and when Tony nodded, he clapped his hands.

“This is gonna be great. Ten bucks says Steve’ll go on about how his barber shop quartet was better.”

“Steve was never in one.” Claire giggled.

“You’re kidding me.” Sam’s eyes went wide, “do you know how he used to go on about those things?”

“Oh, I know.” Natasha rolled her eyes, “That was his number one excuse for years not to do anything. ‘All my friends in the barber shop quartet are dead, so no’”

“That line.” Sam scoffed.

“Bucky told me.” Claire pursed her lips, “he tried to use it on me once. Then I received this message from Bucky, proving this to be utterly false.”

“So that’s why he doesn’t use it anymore.” Sam laughed, “cat’s out of the bag, cap. I’m never letting him live that down.”

“Or maybe he has something else to do on Saturday nights?” Tony wiggled his eyebrows over at Claire, who blushed and cleared her throat.

“So, really, it’s just outfits now, huh?” Sam interjected, leaning back and folding his arms behind his head.

“I think so...I have Steve and Bucky covered.” Claire cleared her throat, pulling up a photo on her tablet and placing it on the table. “I got them their uniforms. Well, Bucky’s needed to be altered a bit, but they will be in their 45‘dress uniforms. Pressed and hiding in Darcy’s closet.”

“You trusted Darcy with those?” Natasha asked. Claire nodded, “It’s fine, I bribed her. It was really the safest place. I think Bucky is suspicious something is up.”

“Steve too.” Tony nodded, “i don’t think he believed me when I told him Vision had a sudden interest in swing music.”

“That’s the best you could come up with?” Sam rolled his eyes. “Hey, back on track here!” Claire clamored, “what is everyone going to wear? I’m going with this -” she pulled up a new picture. The plum colored dress had a full shirt and capped sleeves. “I like it.”

Natasha nodded her approval. “More importantly, what are you wearing under it?” Natasha laughed as Claire’s face took on a bright red sheen.

“This is the part of the conversation that cues me to leave.” Sam stood up, and clapped Claire on the back.

Tony lazily got to his feet, “anything but military uniforms fair game?”

Claire nodded, watching Natasha’s mischievous grin grow and the two men walk away.

“If I do recall, we had an appointment at Savino’s.” Natasha coolly reminded her, and Claire nodded, the blush still burning on her cheeks. Natasha spent much of her time fretting over Steve, and Steve’s romantic life, was for whatever reason, a great concern of hers. Now that Claire was in the picture, Natasha gained great pleasure over haranguing the ninety-five year old man over his bedroom activities.

“You know, it’s not necessary for you...” Claire was stopped with one ferocious look from the red headed assassin.

“That man may not be able to die from natural causes, but sure as hell doesn’t mean I won’t try. His jaw will drop.” Claire held in her sigh. It was useless.

“Did you have anything in mind?”

Her grin was only borderline evil. She pulled up a picture on her tablet, and slid it over the table to Claire, who fought to keep the color from her face.

“How do you feel about garter belts?”


	5. Chapter 5

Claire stepped into the deep purple dress, the skirt rustling around her stocking feet as she pulled it up her body. The lace of the thigh highs laid flat over her legs, feeling smooth against the satin skirt. She slipped the capped sleeves over her shoulders, smoothing her hands down the front, secretly reveling in the smooth, silky material. 

There a sharp knock on the door. “Are you ready?” Steve’s voice asked from the other side of the door. She zipped up the back of the dress, feeling it tighten comfortably around her waist and push her breasts upwards. 

“One...more minute!” she responded, looking at her reflection in the wide mirror. She touched the pearls around her neck. It had been an overly extravagant birthday gift, which had left her gaping. Somehow he discovered pearls were her favorite, and well, his 1940s romantic sprung lose on that one. 

Her plum dress flared at the waist, and matched well with her dark brown hair, the ivory pearls laying primly at her neck. She knew she looked good, the perfect demure pin-up. A flare of excitement settled in her chest. Claire and Tony came up with the idea to celebrate their resident time machines with his annual Halloween party. 40s themed. The pair - Steve and Bucky that is - constantly reminisced, and well, Claire wanted to do something special for them both. 

Smiling, she opened the door to an empty bedroom. She heard muffled voices from the kitchen, so she slipped on her heels, black pumps which gave her an extra two inches, and walked out to her Steve. 

“Ready?” she asked, gaining his attention, and when he turned, his eyes widened. She smiled, knowing a blush was spreading over her cheeks. She held out her hand to him, her heels clicking smartly on the wooden floor. Even Bucky’s eyebrows were raised in astonishment. 

“Claire...” Steve smiled, and she went smoothly into his arms. Claire kissed him chastely on the mouth, loving the warmth of his hands on her hips, the smoothness of his lips against hers. She sighed softly in her mouth, closing her eyes. 

She pulled away, gazing at his green army uniform. She let her fingers slide along the label of his jacket. “I’ve always liked a man in uniform.” His gaze lingered over her face, the dress. She peered around Steve. 

“Lookin’ good there, Sargeant.” 

Bucky ducked his head. “You clean up nice yourself.” 

Steve shot a glare at Bucky. “You look beautiful.” he murmured, kissing her cheek, his hand sliding to rest in the small of her back. She let herself be pulled closer to him, his wool jacket coarse and rough under her hands. 

“We shouldn’t be late,” she murmured, linking her arm through his. She held out a crooked arm for Bucky, who hesitantly slipped his through hers. 

“We make quite the trio.” she said happily, looking back up towards Steve, whose giddy smile was infectious. She felt her heart swell, and something like euphoria bubbled in her stomach. Her two soldiers looked trim, their old uniforms fitting perfectly over their shoulders, slacks ironed flat and creased. Right out of an old photo, Steve’s hat tilted to one side, hair combed back. 

Steve’s hand touched hers, flitting over her fingers gently. She smiled up at him, then towards Bucky, who looked sheepish. Nervous, shifting back and forth in the elevator. 

“You don’t need to stay long, but...you did promise me a dance.” she gave his forearm a small squeeze, directing his attention to her. She felt the palm of her hand warm slightly, like she was touching a hot mug of tea. The light between her fingertips was dull, overshadowed by the lights of the elevator around them. 

Claire acutely felt his fluttering heartbeat, his anxiety spiking his tempertature. 

“That’s cheating,” he grumbled at her, feeling her healing touch through the thick wool of her jacket sleeve. But his soft, barely there smile told her enough. 

“Gotta take care of my boys.” she responded, and Steve leaned down to kiss the top of her head. She swatted at him, “Hey, it took me hours to do my hair!” 

“Trust me, I know.” he laughed, and the elevator dinged, opening into a wide hallway. Voices droned on somewhere nearby, the lights were dim, and the fast notes of a band drifted above the din of laughing, chatting people. She surged forward, surprisingly spry on tall heels. They dutifully followed her into a large banquet hall, dressed to the nines with soft lanterns and a swing band strumming away on a corner stage. 

Their entrance caused a stir, and immediately feet began stamping, and Tony stood up, hand gesturing to them. Bucky balked, but Claire kept a strong arm through his. 

“The men of the hour!” Tony chimed, the band quieting, “Captain Steven Rogers, and Sergeant James Buchan Barnes!” 

Applause sounded, Claire grinned at the shocked expressions on Steve’s face. The band started up again in full earnest, and Natasha stalked over to them, smirking. “Careful now, you don’t want to give them heart attacks. It happens to the elderly.” 

“Ha, ha, funny Nat.” Steve replied, “you had a hand in this, didn’t you.” 

She shrugged, and unlinked Bucky’s arm from Claire’s to slip hers through. Her dress was skin-tight, straight black pin-up vixen. Her bobbed hair was crimped, and she smiled demurely at them. 

“You both look so spiffy.” She touched Bucky’s lapel, “who knew you could look so normal.” 

Bucky remained silent, but his shoulders relaxed some under Natasha’s crooning. Steve kissed Claire’s cheek, “So how much of this was your idea?” 

Claire shrugged, but Natasha shook her head, “most of it. Tony thought it was a grand idea and rolled with it.” she pointed at the band, “hence the band. and your uniforms, which he bullied out of the Smithsonian with the promise their would be pictures.” 

“Oh no...” Bucky growled, “no pictures.” 

“Too late, you were photographed as soon as that door opened.” 

He shot a glare at Claire, who smiled innocently, “It’s just...you look so good!” 

Steve laughed, while Bucky took a seat next to Natasha, “Flattery will get you nowhere.” Steve pulled out Claire’s chair, hands resting on her shoulders. 

“I’m not sure, with that dress I think she’ll get anything she wants.” 


End file.
